


Bloodthirst

by Vortexsin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Princess reader, knight Kylo, monster!kylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vortexsin/pseuds/Vortexsin
Summary: Kylo is a Knight, fighting for and protecting his Princess.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by this song, I suggest listening to it at some point along with this fic.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWzUdGNa46I

 

Kylo walks down the hall, heavy cape billowing behind him and he takes long strides. The echoing of his boots fill your body with dread, each step vibrating through your soul. He stops before you, close enough that his cloak surrounds you bringing you his scent of cloves and sweat. He kneels down before you, helmet beneath one arm, taking your delicate hand in his large, gloved one. He presses his forehead against your knuckles and looks up to meet your eyes through his hair. He rises and gives you one longing look before securing his helmet in place and turning on his heel, to walk out the carved doors. Your heart breaks and you weep, falling to the floor.

He descends onto the battlefield like an angel of death, smoke rising and billowing around his tall frame. He steps onto the blood soaked earth below and breathes in the scent of fear and destruction. His eyes close and he puts to rest every thought but the one of killing.

His eyes open with a new fire. He barks commands to his men and they shift, into formation, begin stepping, stomping, stampeding towards the enemy. He draws his sword and begins a battle cry. He pounds his chest and rips of his helmet letting it fall benethe the feet of thousands as he runs towards the gates of the inferno. A wall of soldiers decends upon them and he is suddenly red, his black cloaks soaking in life. The blood seeping between the cracks in his armor. His long sword is red, hacking through any who get in his way. His way to freedom. His way to you.

 

He becomes a monster in the frenzy, fighting tooth and nail, clawing his way through the masses. He kills anything, so bloodthirsty he turns on his own. He is all consuming and eradicating. There is nothing in his mind but the taste of liquid life and rip of muscle benethe his sword. He does not fight for any noble cause, his heart lost to his greed and hunger long ago.  
He instead fights to satiate that hunger. He fights to hunt. 

 

A movement catches his eye and he whips around, grabbing the arm of the man running towards him to pull him close and thrust his sword, the extension of his white hot rage, through the mans ribcage, shattering his heart and splattering through the flesh of his back. Kylo looks into the watering eyes of the young man, no older than he was before the fall of himself. Kylo grits his teeth and turs the blade, hissing. The young one screams, agony flooding him. He shoves the sword farther, the hilt stopping with a thump against the young mans chest. 

He knows what this is, has seen this demon before in himself. He knows he will not return to you with his same anxieties. He will kill them here and now on the battlefield to his victory.  
He grabs the young one by his black curls and thrusts the blade backwards feeling the suction release as a hot spray of crimson dowses him. He stands there watching the light fade from the young mans eyes, his face twisted in a display of utter horror and pain. Dropping the body he falls to his knees letting his sword fall next to him.

He will leave his heart for the world behind on this stage.

…….

 

Hours later, after the enemy retreat, you are allowed to find him. You see his dark form hunched over a body. You speak his name the wind carrying it towards him. He hears you and stands, pushing himself up by his sword. Grasping the hilt he steadies himself and lists his head. You see his eyes on fire, dark circles of death. His heavy cloak hangs from his towering frame, the cowl drawn up and his curls are sweeps across the bridge of his nose. You call to him , tearing falling down your cheeks. You scream his name as you gather your white skirts and run, whipping off your shoes to give your feet traction. Your muscles tighten against you but you push, forcing yourself to run faster into his arms.

Crashing into his chest he holds you, crushing you against him and inhaling your sweet lavender scent. Your eyes are puffy and face flushed but you cannot help sobbing into him. He lifts you in one arm, cradling you to his side. You bury your face into the side of his neck and grasp at him anywhere you can. Setting you down but keeping you close to his side, he begins walking back with a slight gait keeping his balance with his sword.

As he mounts the horse and lifts you onto it between his legs, you see up close the deep gash on his face. A crack upon the marble of his sculpted features, blood dried, the wound risen and angry. The scar will be a reminder of his sacrifice and his promise to you. You look down to your dress seeing the lives of hundreds slain and your own untouched, unmarred skin. 

You know he is an animal and you know he will one day devour you whole, crushing your bones and lapping your viscera. But until then you cling to him, sharing his heat and whispering soft nothings into his heart.


	2. The Dance- Bethena: A Concert Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turning sixteen was a dream, floating on air all night surrounded by handsome suitors and expensive gifts. You hold hope for your true love to come sweep you off your feet tonight.

Chattering of voices give way to a cacophony of drunken political conversations and hollow compliments towards various ladies of various houses. A dancefloor lost benethe a the swaying waves of tulle and hoop skirt filled dresses, bouncing back and forth as their owners are thrown between the welcoming entrapment of noblemen and their thinly veiled intentions. 

An array of trays is passed through the hands of servers going through their rounds, making sure the ladies and gentlemen of the party were sated and jovial as drink flowed endlessly into their mouths. The music a gentle tune on the grand piano, cheerful and tugging at your heartstrings. 

Tonight was the celebration of your sixteenth birthday, the age at which you became eligible for marriage. You were of a high-class family, your upbringing consisting of all pearls and ponies, your father a wealthy and respected man, your mother also coming from a long lineage of deep pockets. 

"A dance my lady?" A young man steps in front of you, bowing deeply at the waist and holding out his hand in hopes that yours would soon fill it. He was a slim and tall man, his slicked hair a bright orange akin to a sunset, with the roots a deeper red. You smile to him and place your hand in his, letting him lead you to the dance floor where a lull has parted a path for you to enter. He takes your waist and holds your hand to the side, leading you in a waltz, soft and rocking. 

You laugh at the joy of dancing, spinning and hearing the clicking of your velvet heels. Your hair, though in an elaborate bun, has come loose and let a few stray strands fall against your collar bone as you twirl in the gentleman's arms. You live for the light of the chandeliers above you and the faint smell of pastries and the thickness of the summer air drifting into the dance hall through the large open doors.

You dance with many suitors throughout the evening never truly learning their names or who they were. They didn't care if you called to them for a million favors using the wrong name and stepped on their polished dancing shoes, scuffing them. You were radiant. Your softly quilted ballgown as pale and layered as an Aster flower. Your smile math their hearts swell near bursting every time you glanced up to them with your shining eyes that glinted with mischievous flirtation. They knew it was your game, seeing how many grown men you could make bend to a little girl's will, like a flower bending itself to see the sun and inch just that much closer to her warmth.

Surrounded by a pack of finely bred young men you simply sparkle under their praises at what a fine young woman you've grown to be and how proud you must make your family to be such a beauty. You lose yourself in their accolades, your aching cheeks turning a rosy shade and twirling a curl in your manicured finger. Standing five foot two with your small heels decorated with small bows on the straps, your head was barely reaching of the fine men's chins. 

Across the dance hall you notice a tall, dark figure enter. He removes his heavy black traveling cloak and gives it to an awaiting servant who whisks it away to the closet for safe keeping. He is dressed in striking black to match his raven locks and shadowed eyes. He sees you. You stop breathing as the man takes a breath, seeming to steal yours, and begins making long strides towards you and your ensemble of handsome puppies. As he approaches a path is cleared for the mystery man who seems to be not of this earth, instead a creature walking among men. You lift your hand as he bows to kiss your small knuckles. 

You are awestruck as he straightens himself and lifts you on a cloud from your chair, paying no mind to the men whos evening had been spent waiting on your hand and foot. As he guided you back towards the dance floor the merry tune that had been filling you with glee trailed of in a sprinkle of keys leaving you in the chattering of your party guests.

Arriving in the center of the decorative dance floor you let the mysterious dark man place his hands on your waist and take your delicate hand in his large one. Feeling swept away you look up into his coal black eyes and you feel the world melt away as he becomes the only thing in the world. He smirks and leans down towards your ear.

"My darling, I've come for you."

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Fic and I am open to constructive criticism.  
> I eventually want to expand this into a longer story.


End file.
